To become the Tenth Walker
by Skessa
Summary: Amanda falls into Middle-Earth, hoping to meet Legolas and join the Fellowship. But Tolkien's World is full of evil surprises... She does join a Fellowship - but not the one she wishes. AU, naturally. Reviews are appreciated.
1. Chapter 1 Lost in MiddleEarth

Chapter 1. Lost in Middle-Earth

I was sitting in my tiny living room watching "The Return of the King". I started with the first film right after returning home from college, and now, long after dark, I have made it to the last one. The dusty mirror on the side wall, right by Orlando's poster, reflected my unkempt room littered with discarded clothes, empty Coke bottles, popcorn bags, empty pack of cigarettes, hamburger wrappings and occasional beer cans. There was also my own reflection – that of an overweight young girl, neither pretty nor ugly, with watery-blue constantly unfocussed puffy eyes, slightly greenish complexion and lanky brown hair in need of grooming. Maybe this unflattering image was the reason why I rarely dusted the old mirror.

Watching the three Lord of the Rings DVD's has become my favorite past-time ever since my friend Lucy presented me with the whole set on my eighteenth birthday. Since then, we had rarely met outside the college, as I absently declined all the invitations to parties and to theaters and hurried home to watch the movies, to read LOTR fanfiction and to dream of falling into Middle-Earth.

This evening, as usual, I was daydreaming (or, given the late hour, was it "nightdreaming"?), mindless of the steady drone of the movie soundtrack turned to low volume out of consideration for the neighbors on the other side of the thin wall.

In my dreams I was a gorgeous Elven lady with voluptuous body, creamy skin and cerulean eyes, clad in amethyst velvet dress with while silken sleeves. I was walking among the mallorns of Lorien in a company of the lovesick Prince Legolas who looked exactly like Orlando Bloom. He put his elegant long-fingered hand on my shoulder, making me pause on a tiny bridge spanning a narrow stream. "Laurindella, my sweet love," he whispered huskily and claimed my rosy lips in an ardent kiss. A wave of happiness washed over my body which in the world of the living was stretched on a sofa wearing a sweaty T-shirt and faded jeans and hugging an almost empty Coke bottle. I closed my eyes in pure bliss and drifted off to sleep…

I woke to the bright sunshine steadily baking my face. The sun was right overhead - so I had to close my eyes and turn onto my belly to survey the surroundings. I was lying on a small hillock – and all around me was a sea of long green grass intermingled with white and yellow flowers. On my right there flowed a wide river, glistening in the sun like polished silver. On my left was an endless line of white-capped mountains, seeming eerie and unreal in the distance. "Misty Mountains!" I whispered, not daring to believe my luck. I was in Middle Erath – for what else could it be?

Giggling, I sprang up – and here my excitement evaporated. Oh, gosh! I was still myself – as far as I could see - the same plump sorry figure, Amanda Smith, not Laurindella Arwendomiel I longed to be. I touched my ears, my face – and could detect no change at all. Tears sprang to my eyes and I nearly wailed in misery. Moreover, I was still in my old clothes that I never donned outside my apartment. The T-shirt had a faded picture of Legolas on it – and how was I supposed to explain it when I meet him? Discarding the thing was out of the question – I had no other clothes. Surprisingly, my old Reebok jogging shoes that I had left under the sofa made the trip with me and were now lying in the grass not far away. I sat down and put them on. At least I won't be obliged to walk around wearing only socks – a comforting thought, for walk I would have to, given as there was not a single house in sight.

I stood again surveying the landscape in search of some clues. I had no idea where I was and where I was supposed to go. Normally girls stuck in ME never have this problem – all land quite close to Rivendell as a rule. But it didn't look like Rivendell at all – there had to be trees there. Same applied to Lorien. If anything, this plain looked like Rohan – but I have never read a single fic with a girl landing there! Whoever organized my "trip" did a lousy job, blast him/her/it!

The next thought made me shiver in hot sunshine. What about the current TIME? What if I have landed in ME long after Leggy had departed for Valinor? Or maybe he was not yet born, ancient in years as he may be? I shook my head and tried to calm down. Surely it must be the right year – everyone lands in ME the right year, the year of the movie, in time to join the Fellowship and to become the Tenth Walker. Most arrive specifically for the Council of Elrond, which was…ahem… sometime in autumn: I remembered the golden leaves in the lush gardens of Rivendell. However, there was not a single yellow leaf, not a blade of yellow grass around me – it looked like high summer. Here was rose-bay blooming along what looked like remnants of an ancient stone wall, there were bluebells and snapdragon just like those around my granny's farm. It looked like July to me, but of which year?

Standing there under the blazing sun and looking around helped little: it only made me thirsty. I picked up the plastic bottle lying at my feet, finished what little Coke was left inside, and determinedly walked in the direction of the river.

"Hang on, Leggy", I thought, gritting my teeth. "Sooner or later I will join you and together we will save the world!"

TBC


	2. Chapter 2 Meeting the locals

Chapter 2

Notes: Many thanks for the kind review, PurpleHat! And mentioning bluebells was apparently a mistake, as Rohan is even to the south from the Shire (or UK). Thank you for pointing it out.

Also, forgot to put in a disclaimer in chapter 1. Here it goes: Everything and everyone recognizable belong to Tolkien and his heirs, not to me.

Chapter 2. First encounter with the locals.

It took me quite a long time to reach the river – distances are so deceptive on the open plains, or so I heard. The sun was setting behind my back when I kneeled on the stony bank and finally filled my bottle with cold clear water. I drank it in almost one swallow and refilled the bottle again. I decided to stay for the night by the bank, for there were water to drink and shrubs to hide me. With the approach of the night, my obliging memory started to supply me with vivid pictures of Middle Earth beasties: small wicked orcs, big warrior uruk-hai, huge ugly trolls, wargs, giant spiders, pterodactyls and what's not - not to mention the nazgul, evil Saruman and Sauron himself. I lay dawn on the soft green grass amid the bushes, hugged myself tight against the night wind and fell asleep in mere moments, exhausted from worry and exertions of the day.

I awoke in the middle of the night, cold and numb. The full moon stood high above the opposite bank of the river and a silver path ran invitingly towards it across the quiet river water. I sat blinking owlishly at the moon, when my mind finally processed the sound that must have awoken me: the pounding of hooves. Concealed from my sight by the dense foliage, several horses were galloping along the bank, the sound of hoof-beats soft on the grass. My heart pounding in my chest I half-rose to hail the riders, but my knees suddenly felt like water and I sank back down. Desperate as I was, I was terrified to face the night riders, alone and defenseless.

My fingers barely stopped to shook from fright, when I started berating myself. "Aren't you silly, Amanda? You have not a single scrap of food, not a piece of bread and still you are so particular in the choice of company. What will you eat tomorrow, eh?" But it was too late: the sound of hooves had died in the distance upriver.

For the rest of the night, sleep had evaded me, and with the first light I started walking again following the trail of the horses still visible on the dew-covered grass. I was able to figure out that I was moving north, as the Sun rose to my right, across the river. The wide river flew from north to south, so I supposed it was likely the Anduin. Anyway, I didn't remember another river from the movies. It seemed I was indeed in Rohan, the land between the mountains and the river. As far as I recalled, the Riders of Rohan were gorgeous blond Men, firmly opposed to Evil, so I had really been silly not to hail them last night.

Hmm, I thought, somewhere by the river there was Lorien and the Fellowship had to come there one day. I only had to ask Galadriel for shelter and wait for them. I was not particularly fond of Galadriel and Celeborn, but Haldir was a cutie, not as cool as Legolas, but still not bad. I smiled.

By mid-morning I have found a blackberry bush and ate all the berries I could find – ripe and unripe alike. It filled my stomach somewhat, but not to warm fullness I was so used to. After some rest, I hurried after the riders. The trail was long gone, but I hoped that they would continue in the same direction – north along the bank. On and on I went, with all my "middle-earthly" possessions - an empty plastic bottle - in one hand.

I was considering stopping somewhere again, when I saw two unsaddled horses tethered in the deep shade of an oak corpse some way from the bank. One barely looked at me and continued its grazing; another snorted, ears prickled, and turned its head in my direction. I squeaked and ran towards the horses, delighted that my lone wanderings were seemingly over. But where were the riders?

I had covered half the distance, when I noticed a tall man in a dark cloak sitting on a fallen log where the shade was deepest. He lifted his hooded head to look at me - and I stopped as if with a bullet in my gut. Something was terribly wrong, but it took me some time to process what I saw, prepared as I had been for Middle-Earth wonders. The shadowy hood staring at me was empty – I could discern the inner folds of the fabric, but no face.

It was a Ringwraith.


	3. Chapter 3 Ssshire! Bagginsss!

Notes: Thank you for reviewing, Ifiwalkthesun! Here is the next chapter.

Disclaimer: Everything and everyone recognizable belong to Tolkien and his heirs, not to me.

Chapter 3. Ssshire… Bagginsss…

I think I screamed. In panic I turned and ran as fast as I could back to the river, repeatedly looking over my shoulder. Surprisingly, the ringwraith remained seated on his log, as if nothing had happened. "Perhaps they really don't see in the light at all," I thought.

My relief was short-lived for I ran into something – or somebody - and fell heavily on my backside, so hard that my teeth chattered. I heard a low chuckle and looked wildly around. There was nobody in sight… except a pair of empty black leather boots standing all on their own by my side. Harmless as they looked, the boots frightened me even more. I scrambled to my feet and was going to resume my flight when I felt a cold invisible hand grip my shoulder – hard.

I tried to wriggle free, flailing the air around me with my fists. Some of the blows seemingly landed on someone, but it helped me little - all I earned was another chuckle from high above the boots. In a moment I was lifted bodily into the air, tucked under an invisible arm (as I could glean from the feel of it) and carried back to the oak grove where the first nazgûl was waiting.

It must have been a curious sight: under me the pair of empty boots was walking purposely while I was floating through the thin air with no visible support, wriggling and hollering like a madwoman in a seizure. Unfortunately, there was no one around to appreciate the spectacle, except the nazgûl waiting by the horses, and this one was probably used to such antics. He rose and made a few steps in my direction, so, when my attacker had finally broken his iron grip on my midsection, I landed on my belly right at his feet.

I lay there, panting in fright, my throat hoarse from screaming. The hooded nazgûl said something in an unpleasant, guttural tongue and threw a bundle of black cloth to the invisible owner of the empty boots. This one laughed again, shook out the cloth that proved to be another black cloak, and donned it. In a moment there were two cloaked and hooded ringwraiths looking down at my prostrate body.

It was high time for me to faint, like all decent girls do in the stories when things start turning really bad. When they come to, they would normally be lying in a soft bed in Elrond's House, with Aragorn or Legolas nursing them back to health. Unfortunately, I found that fainting from fright was no easier in Middle-Earth than it was in my own world. I felt terrified to the core, but perfectly lucid.

Then the questioning began. The first nazgûl prodded me with his boot to get my full attention and asked me something lengthy in a language that I had never heard before.

I shook my head and replied in English "I am sorry, but I don't speak this language,… uhm, my Lord." I had no idea how one should properly address a nazgûl, but being polite never hurts.

They seemed surprised by my answer, for there followed a short exchange between my captors in what seemed to be the Black Tongue. Anyway, it did sound horrible.

Then they tried other languages, a whole lot of them. Some were rather melodious and nice, some guttural, some harsh. One or two sounded vaguely Middle-eastern, another much like Hungarian to my ears – I used to hear my landlady speak it on the phone. Anyway, though the nazgûl proved to be polyglots, it was of little help with me, for I spoke none of the languages they did. I knew a little French, but I felt it was not even worth the try.

Finally, the first one gripped my shoulder and shook me repeating one word "Sûza?" again and again.

What the hell might it mean? I tried to be helpful, lest they start to maltreat me in earnest. "Why don't you speak Westron?" I asked with an attempt at a smile. "Anyone knows it is the same as English – isn't it?"

Hmm, apparently it wasn't – or I happened to fall in with two nazgûl who didn't speak the Common tongue of Middle-Earth. But how then did they ask hobbits for directions to the Shire?

Suddenly I had an inspiration. I stood on all fours and hissed "Sshhire… Bagginsss…"

I looked up at them hopefully. No reaction from the first one, but the one who had captured me laughed. "What a merry nazgûl!" I thought irritably. Somehow it felt not right – they should have been cold, mindless hunters entirely obsessed with getting the Ring.

These two were weird anyway, for what sort of a Ringwraith would not be interested in the slightest in the "Shire" and "Baggins"? Maybe Westron was not English, but the names of places and persons should have been the same, right?

The two ringwraiths were conversing again. The quiet one was apparently giving orders to the merry one. I watched in disbelief how the latter shrugged his shoulders, drew a long blade and unhurriedly walked towards me.

What the …? They were going to kill me – just like that! To kill the one who knew what was going to happen and could help them out, as no one else could! What a dreadful misunderstanding!

They say danger makes one think fast. When the nazgûl stopped behind my back and touched my nape with the sword, taking aim, I finally found what to say to gain their interest. I filled my lungs with air and hollered much like Gandalf did at the Council:

"Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!"

STORY NOTES

Unfortunately, English is NOT the same as Westron (or the Common Tongue).

"Shire" is a translation. In Westron "Shire" is "Sûza" (see LOTR Appendix F)


	4. Chapter 4 My new name

NOTES TO THE REVIEWERS: _Thank you for reviewing, Telcontar Rulz, BlackAngel-Cindy and ifiwalkthesun._

_Yes, I am going to keep it more or less realistic. I have always wondered what if an ordinary girl REALLY did fall in Tolkien's world, especially if she were just a movie-fan, not a Tolkien geek who could recite all twelve HOME volumes by heart and speak Sindarin fluently. Her help to either side would be somewhat limited, I fear, if not misleading, he-he._

_Ifiwalkthesun, the nazgul are indeed invisible without their black cloaks, boots and gloves – it is Tolkien canon. Thousands of years ago, after they had received the Nine Rings, they stopped ageing and never died, but have gradually faded into the World of Shadow, becoming invisible. A mortal cannot see their bodies, but, invisible or not, they are capable to interact with the physical world – wear clothes, wield weapons, ride horses. They see the physical world poorly by day, but much better at night. And they see each other clearly at all times, like Frodo was able to see their faces while he was wearing the Ring._

_Disclamer: Nothing is mine, except Amanda._

**Chapter 4. My new name.**

The sword whistled right above my head as a gust of icy wind. The last syllables of Sauron's ring-verse had died away and there was eerie silence. I watched in shock how loose strands of my hair, severed by the sharp blade, slowly floated to the ground. "I have got my new haircut, nazgûl-style," I thought hysterically.

The silence was broken by the ringwraith behind me, the one who had almost chopped off my head and managed to deflect his blow but at the very last moment. I didn't need to understand the language – there was little doubt that he was cursing violently.

I soon found out that the other nazgûl, the quiet one, despite his previous impassivity, shared his fellow's feelings all the way. Without a word, he crouched in front of me and slapped me across the face. I gasped in pain and surprise and would have fallen to the ground when he backhanded me again – the other cheek now. Thankfully, he was wearing simple leather gloves, not those spiky gauntlets of the movies, but it hurt as hell all the same. Then he gripped what remained of my hair and started hissing more questions in my face. I felt the deathly cold of his breath and tried to pull away – to no avail, of course.

"Mal Ash Nazg, sharlob kûf globûrz?!" he was repeating with some variations. Now he was clearly under the impression that I understood the Black Tongue all along and had toyed with them concealing it!

What could a girl do? I started crying. I would have been happy to report that I shed crystal tears, as Laurindella Arwendomiel and other of her ilk usually do – but then again, none of them had ever been slapped in the face by an angry nazgûl. Not to mention the attempted beheading. As it was, I was howling quite ungracefully, snivel running from my swollen nose down my face. Some of it must have leaked onto the ringwraith's hand, for he jerked it away and wiped his glove on my jeans, hissing in apparent disgust.

His comrade, meanwhile, was attempting to drag him away from me, so the "quiet" one finally complied – with a parting kick to my bottom. Never trust the quiet ones…They walked away, deeper into the trees, talking between themselves in hushed tones.

Left alone, I cried and cried until no more tears were left. My trip to Middle-Earth turned out a total failure! Why was I doomed to meet these undead ghouls instead of the Prince Legolas, or at least Haldir?

Speaking of ghouls, there they were again, watching me like two black hawks. Sighing in resignation, I turned to them my tears-streaked swollen face. What now?

The merry one (I learned to recognize him because he was somewhat taller and leaner than the other) pointed at himself and said "Nazgûl". Well, that was nice to know, I sort of figured it out myself… Then he pointed at me. "Lat?" he asked.

I looked up at him in confusion – was he asking what I was? "Woman", I said, "I mean, she-Man…ugh…" Then I remembered the right word from one of the fanfics: "Edain," I announced proudly, which set the merry nazgûl giggling again. The other one, who had slapped me, stepped forward making me recoil in fear. But this time he only pounded his gloved fist on his chest and announced: "Khamûl". Then he pointed at his fellow and said "Udûnabâl". Then he pointed at me. He wanted my name…

I simply couldn't bring myself to tell him I was Laurindella Arwendomiel. I didn't feel like her – not anymore. And then would a nazgûl be able to appreciate such a beautiful name that took so much pains inventing? Stripped of my dreams, I sighed in defeat.

"Amanda," I replied pointing at myself.

They didn't like my name. Not one bit. Hearing my name made them recoil as if I had said something very offensive. They hissed at me angrily, like two disturbed snakes.

That left me baffled. Certainly trying to be on a first-name basis with the ringwraiths was not easy. What was wrong with my, so very ordinary, name?

The quiet nazgûl, Khamûl, was pointing at me again, still angry. "Skessa!" he hissed. "Lat - Skessa!"

His comrade with the impossibly difficult name doubled over in laugher. I looked back, puzzled. Was "Skessa" my new name?

Having done giggling, the merry nazgûl approached me, a long rope in his hands. He tied one end around my neck with an intricate knot that I was not likely to undo. Then, to my horror, he ran his cold hands all over my body, expertly searching for hidden weapons. Satisfied, he pulled me towards the river.

"Ska, Skessa" he beckoned to me.

I obeyed, shivering at the cruel good humor in his voice. He walked me on my leash, like one walks a dog – first to the dense bushes by the river (for which I found myself to be quite grateful), then, when I was done, to the bank itself. I washed my face and drank my fill of sweet cold water. I had found my bottle on the way to the river and now I filled it, while the ringwraith remained a good way from the bank, holding the end of my leash. Apparently he didn't need to drink.

The sun was sinking below the Misty Mountains, when my captors saddled their horses, hoisted me in the saddle behind the merry nazgûl and we rode north into the gathering gloom.

STORY NOTES

Mal Ash Nazg, sharlob kûf globûrz?! - Where is the One Ring, you stupid ugly female?

Lat - you;

Ska - come

(Land of Shadow Black Speech Dictionary at lugburz dot com)

Khamûl, the Shadow of the East, is the commander of Dol Guldur and Second to the Nazgûl Lord. See "Unfinished Tales".

"Udûnabâl" is my invention.

"Amanda" sounds quite similar to "Aman" – another name for Valinor. Thus the nazgûl are less then thrilled to hear it, much like the name of Elbereth.

"Skessa" in the Black Tongue means a she-troll, or an ugly dumb woman.


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